These Things Get To Me
by Free-With-Wings
Summary: It all started the night after graduation at a party. Sasha Braus wasn't expecting to find the stranger leaning against the wall to be someone she'd ask to dance, but the drinks she'd had earlier told her otherwise. However, she never got his name. The rest of her summer is spent in an attempt to learn more about this young man-and herself.
1. Something That I Want

_Underage drinking is illegal_. But do you think that she cared? Hell no, she wasn't complaining, not tonight. For the first time ever, Sasha Braus was going to do things her way. Even if it meant getting completely wasted at a house party the night after high school graduation.

Having finished ninth in her class, the Braus girl felt a little sad, but a little not. She was now going to be stress-free for… for like three months. Frowning, the girl downed another shot of whiskey, the fiery liquid burning her throat. _Just need to get a good buzz, forget about the stress_, she told herself, taking a seat in the living room of the house, on a beige couch.

The music was loud, but the estate was large and just outside of town, so it wasn't bothering any neighbors. Since there were no neighbors, there weren't going to be anyone calling the cops on the kids.

_Kids_, she thought with a sneer, _I'm 18, I'm an adult now. I do what I want_. With a huff, she stretched out her arms and let them fall on either side of her, the right one extended onto the couch while the left lay on the armrest. Parties weren't her thing. All through high school, the only parties she got invited to were little get-togethers with her friends, where they marathoned action movies and ate twice their weight in popcorn and potato chips. Sasha hadn't drank much before—other than that one time she went to France when she was sixteen—but she did know her drinks.

She was supposed to be an honor student, doing her homework, getting straight-As, and getting into Ivy League universities. Sasha wasn't supposed to be drowning the pain and stress of the past four years in whiskey shots and wine coolers. High school was over, and yes she had a job this summer, waitressing at a little café in town, but that didn't start for another week. Therefore, she had plenty of time to just do whatever she wanted, whenever.

Suddenly, the music changed. It wasn't quieter, nor was the song something slower. It was upbeat, and the bass seemed to rock the entire floor of the house. She felt the pulse in her veins, her heart, and felt her foot tapping to the beat. Hazily, she stood up and wandered through the crowd, heading toward the stereo set in the next room over where people were dancing. It was far too loud for conversation, and the lights were turned off in this room, save a few by the built-in bar, obviously meant for entertaining adults, not drunk teenagers.

Wait, whose house was this again? Sasha couldn't remember, but that didn't bother her. Something that should have been of concern to her didn't seem to matter anymore. Instead this _beat_, this _music_ filled her. As she glanced around the room, she saw bodies moving together in a mass. She wanted to join them. She wanted to be them.

Sasha wanted to be that girl over there, the girl in the cropped shirt and ridiculously short jean shorts, with the tall, hot guy behind her, grinding his hips on her, one hand on her waist, the other ridiculously close to her chest. Something that the girl should be uncomfortable with, but because of her intoxication, she didn't really care.

_There_, something told her to look to her right. Standing against the wall was a tall, incredibly handsome boy. Maybe it was just the lighting, but his hair almost seemed two-toned, with an undercut that no one without his jawline could pull off. He had a can of beer in his hand, and he was tapping a finger against it to the beat of the song. The flashing lights glared in her eyes for a moment, causing her to wince, but then she found her feet moving toward him.

The brunette girl wasn't shy at all, but she wasn't the type to just go up to a stranger. _No, not a stranger. He finished in the top of the class above me_, that much she could recall. His name, however, was not something she could remember. No matter, that typical precaution wasn't going to ruin her night. She was getting her dance.

Boldly, she stepped up to the broad-shouldered boy, smirked at him mischievously, and placed a finger on his chest. With a slight frown, he looked down at her, a questioning brow lifted.

"You. You're going to dance with me," Sasha stated. This wasn't a question, this was a demand.

"Why would I do that? I don't dance." He pursed his lips, gold eyes narrowing under a now furrowed brow.

"Because I want to dance like _them_," she gestured to the sweating couple she had watched earlier. That pair would've normally disgusted her, but Sasha wasn't in her right mind tonight.

Closely, she watched his eyes follow her hand, glancing at the two dancing, then slowly turned his chiseled face back to her. He tilted his head to the side, blinked, and nodded slowly. "Fine," he muttered, "But only because I'm drunk, and for some stupid reason I think you're hot."

Barely giving him time to set down his beer can, Sasha grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the dance floor. Immediately the music worked its way back into her veins, and suddenly her heart was pumping sound waves instead of blood. She turned her back to him, grabbed his forearms, and wrapped them around her body, placing them dangerously on the waistband of her shorts. At first they just swayed back and forth a bit, but as they both felt the song take over them—it was a new one now, but the beat was just as good—they got more into the movement.

Before she knew it, he was grinding his hips on her, she was moving her back and forth, arms in the air, bangs whipping in her eyes. With a drop of the bass in the song, she ripped her ponytail holder out of her long brown hair and ran her fingers through it, loosening it and causing it to be a hot mess. Sasha hardly knew what was going on, but the lights were flashing, the room was dark, but everything was vivid. In what she lacked visually, she made up for physically.

The way his fingers had moved under the hem of her shirt and brushed her skin sent shivers up her spine. Slowly, she felt his left hand moving from her waist to her hip, then her thigh—her _inner _thigh. This should be alarming, but it didn't even raise a red flag. In fact, it made her move more into him. She pressed her body against his, and with the hit of the next heavy bass note, she dropped herself down, bringing herself back up again, with her hips and rear leading her, dragging herself against his groin before rolling up with her entire upper body. She felt him take a sharp breath in, and felt the hold on her thigh tighten.

His forefinger played with the bottom hem of her shorts, rubbing back and forth against the boundary between fabric and skin. The other hand that had been on her waist was now making its way up her torso, sending a sensation that caused her to arch her back, bringing her arms up and behind her head, placing one hand on his neck and the other ran through his hair. His right hand was now on her ribcage, and moving up. Thumb was brushing the underside of her breast, only cotton fabric between hand and chest. She could feel his fingers tracing the underwire of her bra.

Suddenly she felt electric.

Sasha turned around and grabbed his wrists.

"What the—?" he began to object, outraged that she had stopped.

"Shut up," she snapped, not angrily, but just to get him to not interject, "come with me."

Dragging him off once again, she walked out of the room into what seemed to be a study. The music still coursed through them, the bookcase on the adjacent wall seemed to throb with the beat. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pushed him into the armchair. He opened his mouth as if to speak again, but she quickly silenced him by leaning forward and placing her lips on his.

"Mmm," he hummed into the fierce kiss, proceeding to grab her waist and pull her on top of him. Her legs straddled his waist as her arms wrapped around his neck, one arm bent to allow her hand to run through his hair. Goosebumps spread across her skin as his hands wandered from her waist to her ass, groping her in a firm, but not harsh manner.

Lips parted, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth, tilting his head for ease of access and to press their mouths closer together. They intensified, hands wandered, but no matter how much they seemed to want one another, they dared not go farther.

Sasha kept a bit of dignity that night.

Somehow, she made her way home, back into the house. She slept off a horrible hangover, and no one found out. However, the next afternoon as she showered, she couldn't help but remember the attractive boy with the undercut. That nameless boy would haunt her.


	2. Turquoise and Lavender

_Flashing lights, pulsing beats, a handsome stranger with arms around her waist…._

"Braus! Miss Braus! Are you even listening to me? This order is up, and you need to take it to table twelve."

The harsh voice pulled Sasha Braus out of her own memory. Shaking her head and brunette bangs falling into her eyes, the girl sighed and turned to the kitchen double-doors.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I'll get right to it. Just out of it today," Sasha rolled her brown eyes as soon as she grabbed the plates and, with a swish of a blue skirt and a flurry of a frilly pink apron, Sasha was out the exit doors and on her way to serve breakfast.

It'd been nine days since the party, and boy, if there was one thing she remembered it was the handsome, chiseled figure she danced with. That attractive boy with the two toned, undercut hair who seemed to have the _best_ body under that tight shirt. At least it felt like it when he had his hands on her hips and his torso pressed against her back. If only she had gotten his name….

"Here are your orders is there anything else I can get you?" She placed the food in front of her guests. As she returned to an upright position after leaning forward, one of the young men in front of her caught her eyes.

_No, it couldn't be_, a strand of hair fell in between her eyes as she did a double-take. There, right before her (if she was not mistaken), was the boy from the party.

Sunlight filtered in the café window, dancing on spiked strands of sandy blonde hair. Golden eyes glanced up under a brown brow, and as his head tilted up, a brown undercut was revealed. Over his broad shoulders was a red v-neck t-shirt that revealed two perfect, attractive, prominent collar bones. In one hand was a cup of coffee, the other rested on his jean-covered thigh. He bit his lower lip, a slight shake of his head before responding, "No, thank you. I'll let you know if we need anything else," and he smiled.

If hearts could literally stop, Sasha's was already there. She opened her thin pink lips and then quickly closed them. What if he didn't remember her? What if the whole party had been a dream and she had seen him somewhere on the street, so he appeared in the dream?

"A-Are you okay?" the boy on the other side of the table asked. He was cute, tanned, and had a face dotted with freckles.

Sasha nodded, "Sorry, I just thought of—of something. My apologies, like I said, flag me down if you need anything," and with a spin on her heel, she was back to the kitchen.

Heart racing, the girl pressed herself against the single bare wall in the kitchen area. That was him, she was absolutely positive. Was it possible that he remembered her? There was barely a chance, and even if he did remember anything, it certainly wasn't the ponytail-haired waitress in a pink, frilly apron at a hole-in-the-wall café he at breakfast at. She ran her hands through her bangs. What should she do?

Well, work for one. Today was not the day she wanted to get fired.

She took out her other orders, returning to table twelve to offer drink refills. When she returned with their drinks, she noticed the party boy looking at her strangely, his golden eyes narrowed as he studied her face.

"Pardon," he began, propping an elbow on the table, "Have we, by chance, met before?" His companion looked between him and Sasha, as if they'd been talking about the possibility.

_Oh lord, they've been talking about me,_ Sasha blinked quickly, hoping her cheeks weren't flushing again. What should she say? _Yes, I met you at a party, I demanded you dance with me, and we got our sexy grind on, would you like to get lunch Saturday?_ Yeah, exactly.

"I—I'm not sure," she said with a small smile, "You look familiar, but I can't place you. That's why I kind of looked like a fish earlier, opening and closing my mouth while looking at you like an idiot." _Sasha, what the fuck?_

"Ah, wait. Were you at that party at the Braun residence about a week ago?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Y-Yes, I was, actually. Perhaps we…. Talked."

"Talked…. Yeah," the boy's eyes clouded for a second, as if he were recalling something. Oh, he probably remembered by now, she crossed her fingers (mentally) hoping he wouldn't say anything further. "I don't believe we were ever properly introduced, I'm Jean Kirschtein."

He extended a hand toward her, smiling. She took it gingerly in hers, shaking it. "Sasha Braus. It's a please to make your acquaintance."

Gesturing to the young man across the table from him, Jean introduced his friend as well: "This is Marco Bodt, a good friend of mine." Sasha went to shake his hand, but the hand he extended was his left, and she quickly switched hands, a bit confused as she stammered out an apology.

"Sorry," the freckled boy smiled shyly, "I haven't got a right arm." The girl's eyes widened in surprise as she looked and there was just a stump of a shoulder. "Don't worry," he said, chuckling, "I was in a car accident a few years back. I've had plenty of looks, but it doesn't bother me."

"Well," Sasha sighed, a bit relieved, "It's wonderful to meet you, Marco."

"I like her," Marco said, looking back toward Jean.

Jean nodded, "Yeah, she's cool," he turned to look at Sasha, "You're cool. Sorry to force you back to your job, but can we get our tickets? We'd like to pay."

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Sasha laughed nervously, "Absolutely, I'll be right back."

She hurried over to the register by the host podium. After punching in some commands, two tickets were printed, ready to be taken to the table. When she returned she smiled.

"Pay whenever you're ready, thank you for coming." She gave a small wave before hopping back to the kitchen.

_Jean Kirschtein_, she hid her face behind her hands, face warm with a blush and lips wide in a smile. He was so much better than the handsome drunk boy she'd seen at the party. Now that she knew his name, she realized how familiar he was. Their high school had been a good size, about two-thousand students, but she knew of most of the honors students. The reason she hadn't known him well was, although he was pretty popular, he didn't do much. She remembered that one year he played acoustic guitar and sang for their homecoming talent show, but she couldn't remember anything other than that. Obviously he was smart, though. It was nice to meet a nice, attractive, fun boy for once. They would have to—_Oh no!_

Sasha's hands flung to her sides, brown eyes wide and round. She'd forgotten to get his number! What if she never saw him again? Granted, this run-in was spectacular, but good luck having another fateful meet-up.

Within a heartbeat, Sasha was out the door of the kitchen and—they were gone. Table twelve was empty. She ran to the table, heart racing. _No, no, you fucked up! You royally fucked up this time, Sasha Braus!_

Wait, what was that?

Sitting tucked under a plate was a napkin with writing on it. In sharp, messy writing was the 'Sasha', a phone number, and the initials 'J.K.'

Hands shaking, Sasha reached for the napkin, taking it in her black chipped-polish nails. Relief flooded over her as she folded it, and after looking around (and after realizing she had no pockets), she stuck it in her bra.

When her shift was over, the brunette hung up her apron, took off her nametag, and grabbed her shoulder bag. In one swift movement, she pulled out her phone and typed the number into her contacts, immediately sending Jean Kirschtein a text.

[To: Jeany Boy 2:08 pm] Hey, it's Sasha Braus. From the Party and the Café.

[To: Jeany Boy 2:09 pm] Would you like to hang out sometime?

Her fingers shook after she sent the text. Should she have not sent that? Was it too much, too soon? Sasha's nerves were calmed quickly.

[From: Jeany Boy 2:11 pm] Absolutely! I hope you like parks.


	3. Can't Stand It

**Sorry this chapter is so late! I was having the most awful writing block. Well, here's chapter three, I hope you like it! Chapter 4 is to come soon. I encourage you to like/follow/review this story/chapter, as it would be very useful for improving my writing. If you'd like to follow me on Tumblr, visit my author profile and it is listed there!**

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When her alarm went off the next morning at 9:30 am, Sasha Braus shot up in bed, brunette hair a tangled mess, and brown eyes wide. Her heart was racing at a million miles a minute, like some stupid hummingbird was flitting around in her chest cavity. She groaned, not out of anger or frustration, but out of nervousness. Today, for the first time ever, she was going to spend time with the most attractive young man she had laid eyes on.

After taking a deep, calming breath, the girl got out of bed, stretching her arms into the air and rolling her shoulders back. She yawned, walking down the hall and into her bathroom. After closing the door, she turned the fan on and hummed to herself, undressing. Once the water was turned on and warmed up, Sasha stepped into the shower, standing for a few seconds. The warm water pattered her back, loosening her muscles and washing away the morning drowsiness. Soon she began to wash herself, lathering shampoo in her hair, body wash over her skin, and eventually washing it all off and putting conditioner in her hair, letting it sit while she shaved her legs.

When she was finished, she turned off the steaming water and dried herself on her favorite, fluffy blue towel. After wringing her hair out, she wrapped the towel around her body and went back to her bedroom. She threw open the wooden closet doors, staring into the colorful mess of clothing. What to wear? A dress, but what if they decided to climb trees? But did she have a cute enough top to wear, since she'd be wearing jean shorts?

With a frown, Sasha dug through her tank tops until she settled on a floral crop top. It still had the tag on it, obviously she'd forgotten about it after buying it last august at an end-of-summer sale. She tore the tag off, discarding it in the trashcan and threw the shirt on over her favorite push-up bra, as well as her shorts over her favorite pair of panties.

Stumbling over a stray pair of shoes, Sasha made her way to her vanity, sitting on the bench and beginning to comb through her long hair. A few snarls made her wince as she pulled and tugged, untangling the knots. When she was finished with that, she applied makeup. Not too much, but just enough to frame her face. In the meantime, while her hair dried, she decided to put on some music and read.

After a while, she was able to take a brush through her hair and braid a small section of it underneath. It may not have seemed like much, but playing with her hair always calmed her nerves.

An alarm cut through the noise. A song was going off on her phone, signaling that it was time for her to leave and go to the park where she was going to meet Jean. Just the thought of spending alone time with the handsome stranger sent shivers down her spine. His first impression of her was a drunk, basically horny Sasha, and that really terrified her. What if he thought she was some slut? Was he possibly only hanging out with her because he thought he could get it in? The brunette shook her head, pushing the thoughts from her mind.

No, Jean wasn't that guy. She could just _tell_.

Strapping on her sandals, the girl grabbed her bag and took off, locking the door behind her. The park they'd decided upon was only four blocks from her house, so all she had to do was walk there.

As she exited her house, Sasha stopped on her doorstep and took a couple deep breaths of air. It was pretty warm outside, but it wasn't hot quite yet. Eventually it'd be so sweltering outside that there would be heat advisories throughout the entire state. Last year the AC broke down in Sasha's house, and she they had to stay at her aunt's house across town so they didn't sweat to death. That made going to work (and summer school—she had to retake algebra oops) really difficult, since her job had been at the library a couple blocks from her house, and she didn't have a car yet so she had to either ride her bike or get a ride from her dad. Now, she did have her own car, but on days like today she chose to walk if her destination was close enough.

Skipping down her steps and out onto the hot cement sidewalk, Sasha looked at her phone and stuffed it back in her shoulder-bag. Shit, she had forgotten to eat something before she left, and it was too late to grab something now. Shrugging it off, the girl made her way around the corner.

_Just a block left. Just one…._ Sasha felt herself shaking with nerves. The last time she had really seen her mystery boy and actually hung out with him they'd… well… she hoped he didn't think anything badly about her. There, about 50 feet before her was the entrance to the park.

She stood in the entrance by the gate, taking deep breaths in through her nostrils, out through her mouth. _Here ya go, Sasha, he's there somewhere just—_

"Eep!" Sasha jumped as a hand touched her shoulder, spinning around with her hair whipping behind her. Her heart was beating a million times faster with adrenaline from the scare.

"Oh my god I didn't mean to scare you!" Doubled over laughing was the two-tone haired boy. Sasha's face was immediately red with embarrassment, but she didn't let it get to her.

"You _jerk_!" She grinned, lightly punching his arm. "I don't do jump scares, I shriek like a little girl!"

"Well obviously. You looked like a spooked pony."

Eyebrows were raised, "Do I look like a horse to you?"

"Do I look like a horse to _you_?" Sasha narrowed her eyes, lips parting with a retort to his mocked question. "Wait, don't answer that," Jean nervously scratched the back of his head.

Running a hand through her long hair copper hair, the girl tilted her head to the side and smiled expectantly.

"Ah," the boy smirked, offering her his arm, "Shall we?"

Trying to look nonchalant, Sasha blinked and attempted to keep a straight face as she looped her arm through his. However, the corners of her lips twitched and she couldn't keep herself from smiling.

The two had walked for a while, talking. They'd looked around the park, trying to find something to do or somewhere to sit, but every bench seemed to be taken. As the sun got higher in the sky, the temperature soared as well. After a while they walked up a hill, settling under the shade of an ash tree.

"Man, I'm sweating something terrible," Sasha bit her lower lip as she tied her hair up in a messy bun, "oh, sorry, too much information."

"Nah," Jean leaned against the trunk of the tree, wiping his brow, "You're faring better than I am. I probably stink. Do I stink? Smell me."

All she did was laugh and shake her head. This kid was sure something. Funny, attractive, smart. Now that she'd had a better chance to look at him, she was able to note the muscles in his arms, as well as the ones that rippled under his shirt along his back and torso. _What a mystery_, she thought, _I wonder what he does in order to stay so fit. Especially since he's smart, too. Never met a buff nerd before._

She must've had a grin on her face or something, because as she glanced over, his golden eyes were staring at her in the most peculiar, unreadable way. A brilliant mind, able to mask his thoughts and emotions even though his eyes were still so alive. It was as if there were bits of sunlight in his eyes. _Sure, it's cliché, but it's got to be true_.

"I've an idea," the boy's expression changed to something more relaxed as he stood, arm extended in the air as he stretched out his back. "Why don't we go to my place? I've got an AC and popsicles."

"Oh, you had me at air conditioning," Sasha stood as well, rolling her shoulders back and pushing her bangs out of her eyes.

"I knew you'd agree, Sash," there was his bright smile again. Crooked and almost cocky. Not quite, but almost. "If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that my intuition is great."

"Sure it is, pony-boy," if he was going to tease, she was going to give it right back to him. "Maybe you have intuition when it comes to minds, but I've got it when it comes to action and body language."

Walking past him down the hill, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, briefly looking over and at him. No, she couldn't read him. Not yet. But soon she would be able to. Sasha Braus was looking forward to that day.


	4. Killer

**I apologize for getting to this so late! I've had a rather busy life in the past couple months, therefore _These Things Get To Me_ was put on a slight hold. However, I have finally finished chapter four, and I hope you enjoy it. I certainly enjoyed writing it.**

**Coming Soon: Chapter 5**

**New Works In Progress: A collaborative BeruSasha (Bertholdt x Sasha) fic with my friend ask-bertl on Tumblr. Stay tuned!**

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The walk to Jean Kirschtein's home was sweltering, but the teens managed to get there with minimal damage done. As the two were coming up the block, Sasha Braus took a look around at the neighborhood. It was full of rather large houses, and it made Sasha a bit uncomfortable. Sure, she lived in a nice neighborhood, but she considered Jean's neighborhood upper-end compared to her upper-middle-class block.

They finished up the slight incline, stepping toward a row of deep green hedges. Hidden among the center of the hedgerow was a black iron gate, which Jean proceeded to unlatch and open, stepping aside to let the girl through first. Inside the gate was a lovely garden. There was a willow tree to the left of the house, its yellow-green tangles hanging down almost to the ground, creating a sort of cave of leaves. A ways past that, closer to Sasha, was a pond that had lily pads and other floral water plants floating on the surface of the water, a couple of nicely contained cattails on the far edge opposite the teens. To the right of the stone path leading up to the house was a bed of flowers. Gerber Daisies, petunias, irises, tulips, and roses were arranged in a creative pattern, making waves of pink, yellow, orange, and purple: a late-evening sunset of petals.

The Kirschtein residence was a 3-story house made entirely of red-brown brick. Black panes around the 2-story windows symmetrical on either side of the front, two black pillars holding up an over-hang above the inlaid patio. There was a mail slot in the dark Mahogany door, with black electric lanterns on either side of the port.

"Basically, your house is _gorgeous_," Sasha emphasized, brown eyes wide disks.

"It's alright," Jean shrugged, leading her around the right side of the house to the back. There was a driveway down to the garage, which happened to be in a level one down the main floor of the house. The drive led to the side of the lot where larger, electric versions of the front gate stood. There was a passcode on it and everything. Sitting out in the sun, obviously freshly washed, was a palladium silver Mercedes-Benz CL550. Not that Sasha knew much about cars, but she did know her luxury vehicles. After all, she was a girl with fabulous daydreams. It wasn't her dream car by any means (for some reason she was drawn to Ford Mustangs), but it was certainly one she liked to imagine herself driving in occasionally. Oh, the looks a person would get in such a gorgeous, expensive car.

And that was about when Jean tapped a finger to the bottom of her chin, eyebrows raised.

"You're going to catch flies," he rolled his eyes.

"Oh. _Oh_. Sorry," the brunette grinned and awkward smile that clearly showed her mortification. "I didn't mean to drop my jaw I just _love_ that car," her brown eyes slid over to the vehicle once more, a wistful sigh escaping her lips.

"It's just a piece of metal," the boy muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Johnson does _not_ need to have that piece of shit sitting out right now."

"Johnson?"

"Step-father. Kind of a pompous ass if you ask me."

"… Oh."

Sasha didn't ask any questions. If Jean had wanted to elaborate on his step-father, he would have gone into further detail instead of shuffling toward the back door and opening it for her. She stepped inside, a wave of cool, refreshing air breezing over her. Bending down to unstrap her sandals, the girl glanced at the rack on the wall opposite the one she was leaning against. It was filled with a rack of shoes. Most of them were women's shoes: a variety of heels, flats, sandals, sassy strappy numbers, and a pair of puma running shoes.

Jean shot her a long look as he kicked off his shoes, noticing her staring at the collection of shoes. She immediately blinked a few times before straightening herself up and tilting her head to the side, trying to make it seem like she wasn't obsessing over his family's obvious wealth.

Clearing her throat, Sasha lifted her eyebrows, "Well? Grand tour?"

Jean grunted, signaling to her that no, they were not going to tour the house. Instead he just shrugged his left shoulder toward the end of the hall, "stairs 'round the corner."

With an internal sigh Sasha followed the young man down the corridor (hall? No, it was too fancy to be called a hallway) that was filled with photos of the family. One in particular by the stairway caught her eye. It was black and white in a trendy way, and it featured a dashing middle-aged man (presumably Johnson), a lovely woman, Jean, and a girl who seemed to be about 13 years old.

"You have a sister," she pointed out, looking up at him."

"Yeah, Louise. She's twelve." A year off, but a good guess on Sasha's part.

"She's pretty."

"Yeah, she really is."

"Does she look like you?"

"Yeah. No. I don't know. You'll have to see for yourself if you're still here by the time she gets home from her dance practice."

"Oh, your sister dances?"

"Yeah," Jean quirked a crooked grin, "She takes ballet, but also does competitive dance. They've already started training camps in preparation for learning their routines later this summer, followed by the competition season in September—which goes until May—then dance studio recital the first weekend in June, then training camps."

"Jeez, sounds like a year-round thing," Sasha grinned, "You know I dance."

"Wait, what? Where?"

"Expressions."

"You're fucking kidding me," Jean's eyebrows were practically in his hairline, bewildered.

"Not kidding. Why, does Louise go there?"

"Yeah, she dances at Expressions. Wait, did you quit?"

"College," the brunette giggled, tapping a forefinger to her temple, "I've graduated. This past recital was my last. Did your sister dance the first night or the second?"

"Second. Why?"

"Oh, that's 'advanced' show—"

"I know."

"—aka the same show I was in."

"Wait. What dances were you in?"

"_Lovestruck_, _Love in a Box_ for pointe, _Violet_, _Candles_, _The Middle_, and a solo called _Last Station_."

"_Jesus,_ that was you?"

Sasha's eyebrows shot up her forehead, "W-what?"

"You're like, _amazing_." He kept emphasizing words like that, "that _Last Station_ was so _great_. It was like watching a fucking _angel_ flying across the stage. The most beautiful dance I have _ever seen_."

With each phrase, Sasha Braus' face grew redder. She never thought she was that good, just that she worked hard to get some skills enough to dance for, well, fun. It wasn't a career, for her, and her studio didn't emphasize actual forms of ballet, just simple modern variations and routines to modern music. It was a hobby. Maybe Jean didn't know what he was talking about. Honestly, he probably had a good idea of what he was saying, since he mentioned (he'd been talking this entire time) something about Louise starting when she was three—just as Sasha had—so he had to have some knowledge of dance after seeing competitions and recitals all those years.

As she fought for words, the dusty blond boy flashed her a smile, elbowing her arm, "Aw, c'mon Sash, let's just go upstairs. I'll introduce you to Louise when she gets home, if you're willing to stay for a while." With that, he turned from her and started up the white-carpeted stairs.

Once the young adults got to the second floor, Jean took a turn to the right, rounding a left corner and out of sight. Sasha followed behind him, a little concerned about losing him in this grandiose house, but instead of getting lost, she simply bumped into something.

There was a white railing in front of her—she'd missed a second left and hit what was stopping her from falling off the balcony. Looking below her, there was a large dining hall. Well, large for a house. Certainly not something like those in a hotel or anything. However, it could pass for a small, fancy hotel. There was a white grand piano propped up in one corner, a bar below the balcony (she'd stretched her neck out and down to see what was beneath her suspended self), and plenty of white granite floor space to dance on, should there be a black-tie party of sorts. There was even a chandelier, for the ceiling went all the way up to what would be the ceiling of the third floor, right beneath the attic (Sasha assumed there was an attic). In the middle of the room—seemingly out of place—was a square dining table. It sat small in the middle of the big hall, lonely. All by itself.

"You coming?" Jean's voice from the top of the second set of stairs. Shaking her head of visions of champagne and evening gowns, Sasha smiled and skipped up the stairs, meeting him and rounding the next corner.

"This floor is kind of mine," he said with a grin, "My bedroom, my bathroom, and a theater room. I mean, the family kind of uses it, but mostly Marco and I game and watch movies in there. The occasional other guys and some chicks."

_Cocky bastard_, she thought with an eye-roll. For some reason the thought of other girls their age in his house was unsettling. _Come on, Braus, you know that he's probably had girlfriends. After all, you just met him. You're just hanging out, try not to think about it_. Oh well, she followed him to the left and into his bedroom.

Once more, she was stopped in her tracks. His bed was elevated as if it were a top half of a bunk bed. _Lofted_, she thought to herself. There was a small ladder that came down off the end, not straight up and down, but inclined. Beneath the bed was a desk with a laptop sitting open, the screensaver a slide-show of a bunch of different album covers—probably of his favorite bands. Sasha only recognized a couple of the band names.

His pale-blue walls were covered in posters. Movie posters on the left wall, band posters and a variety of pictures everywhere else. There was a television hung on the wall opposite his bed, and the far right wall had doors that presumably led to a closet. To the left of his bed-desk apparatus was a stand with a gorgeous blue acoustic guitar. On the floor surrounding the guitar, sheet music was splayed everywhere in a sort of organized-mess.

"You play," Sasha tilted her head, making a statement rather than asking a question. It was obvious he played guitar.

"Yeah, I do. I play the piano, too. And bass. I'm not well-versed in drums, though. I guess I know some violin, too, but that's because I took lessons for a couple years."

"Impressive. You know I sing a bit."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, it's nothing special. I can't play any instruments though."

"Hmm, maybe I can teach you sometime?" a soft smile graced his lips.

Sasha pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, "Yeah, that'd be nice." Taking a deep sigh, she walked past him, finding a spot on the floor and sitting down.

"Well then, Kirschtein, why in the world are we here? I was about ninety-percent sure you promised not only AC but also popsicles."

Scoffing, Jean rolled his eyes, "You're so demanding, _Braus_. Shut up," she was giggling, "I'll go get some. Flavor?"

"Lime."

He nodded, "'Kay, I'll be back," and headed down the stairs.

Suddenly Sasha wished she had gone with him instead of sitting on his floor. It was rather awkward for her to be alone in an unfamiliar house, especially one so large. Regardless, she sat there humming a tune to herself. It was a few minutes before she heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs and down the hall, back to his room where she remained.

"You sat here the whole time like this?" he was a bit surprised.

"What, did you want me to sift through your stuff? I'm telling you, I was so tempted to find your underwear and steal a pair. Keep 'em in my pillowcase."

"Oh my god, you perv."

"Hey, I could be an ax murderer."

"Maybe I'm a serial killer."

"Hey, we'd make quite the team!"

By now, he was sitting opposite her on the floor, and the two were laughing so hard they couldn't open the wrappers on their popsicles. Eventually they calmed down enough, and soon the two were long finished with the frozen treats and huddled in front of his computer screen sharing music interests.

"No, but seriously, this band is the _best_," Sasha insisted, her brunette ponytail over her shoulder and rested a bit on his shoulder.

"There's no way. Paradise-what's-the-other-part-of-their-name can't be super amazing."

"Paradise _Fears_.No, you don't understand," she was indignant, "I danced to one of their songs. Their music style is ever changing yet kind of the same, if you know what I mean—" he nodded, "—and I just can't get over how great they are!"

"Fine, I'll look them up. What song?"

"My favorite is one of their older songs: Hear Me Out."

"Okay, here it is."

With some clicks of the mouse, he was able to find the right song and play it over his speakers. It was a pop-punk number, a semi-love confession, but less lovey-dovey and more oh-dear-lord-I-confessed-my-feelings-and-you-haven't-said-anything-back-yet. When it was finished, Jean sat back in his chair and exhaled.

"What?" Sasha was worried he didn't like her favorite band, even though it seemed like his kind of music. After all, the music he'd played for her were bands similar to Paradise Fears.

"It's… different. A good different. I like it a lot."

Waves of relief crashed over her, "You do?"

"Honest to any and all deities," he winked at her, crossing his heart with his index finger.

_Adorable_, she thought, realizing she was suddenly looking at him quite close. After all, they'd been practically ear-to-ear the whole time they were listening to music. In fact, their eyes were locked on one another's.

_Not sunlight_, Sasha apprehended from the depths of her mind, _yellow diamonds. Shards of them in his eyes._ Why hadn't she noticed it? That night that seemed so long ago, all she had recognized was that he had a hot body and a great hairstyle. Drunk Jean seemed crasser than sober Jean, but sober Jean was more laid back. Either way, he was attractive.

As his eyes studied hers, Sasha Braus came to the realization that she was incredibly drawn to this ever-mysterious young man. More than she had ever wanted to be attracted to someone. What was the saying? _A moth to a flame._


	5. Hear Me Out

**WOOT, CHAPTER 5! I really need to edit everything and FINALLY add titles to each chapter. Naturally, they'll be song titles (if you know me, my life revolves around my music taste) or lines from a song, as the title is. I hope you enjoy this chapter-please review! I appreciate each comment, for it all means a lot to me.**

* * *

Closing time. The doors were locked, the tables cleaned, and the kitchen spick-and-span. Even though the café was small, it meticulously followed health codes. In fact, it was one of the highest-rated restaurants in town according to inspectors. This meant that they had a great deal of customers, causing days like this to be busy and chaotic.

Sasha Braus was pretty sure that her feet would fall off. After a six-hour evening shift, she was exhausted. Within an hour she had realized that wearing heels to work was the same as signing a death wish. As much as she wanted to take her shoes off while cleaning after closing, she didn't because she knew that the café's reputation depended on precautions about health codes.

When she hung up her frilly pink apron, the brunette tugged her long auburn hair out of its ponytail holder, letting the kinks out while the locks fell in waves over her shoulders. She slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder, taking her keys out of one pocket.

"Miss Braus," Wanda, the short plump woman who was her supervisor, stood behind her.

"Yes ma'am?" Sasha turned to face her boss, eyebrows arched in attention.

"A young man left this for you," in her small fingers was a large piece of paper folded into a crane, "he had a weird haircut under a red beanie, with a one-armed, freckled fella. Said you'd know who he was."

_Jean_. A small smirk crossed her lips. _Glorious bastard_. "Thank you, Wanda. I know exactly who it's from."

"Your boyfriend?" Wanda's southern accent was thicker when she teased people, and this one resembled her raised-in-the-deep-south personality.

"No! He's just a friend."

"Mhm, sure sweetheart," the lady's red eyebrows lifted along with the smirk on her thick scarlet lips, "Boyfriend or not, he's cu-ute."

With a deep sigh, Sasha plucked the origami crane from her supervisor's fingers and walked out the door. "Goodnight, Wanda."

Chuckling, Wanda winked as her fingers ran through her fat red curls and hollered, "Toodles!" when Sasha left.

* * *

The whole ride home, Sasha kept glancing at the folded bird sitting adjacent to her, in the passenger seat. She knew there was a note in it—the crane was too large to be folded out of a regular piece of origami paper. It made her laugh a bit, because Jean Kirschtein didn't seem like the type to know origami. Shrugging it off, she turned her attention back to the road, turning up the Battle Scars Limited Edition album in her car. Five extra songs, only 1000 copies existing. Sasha was the proud owner of 1 of that thousand.

Back home, after a nice shower, the brunette was lounging on her bed, laptop to her left, paper crane in front of her. One would think that, after waiting for what seemed like forever, she'd have unfolded the shit out of that bird, hungry for what she knew was inside. Instead she just looked at it. It was plain and white, as if made of some normal printer paper.

"C'mon, Sasha. You've been staring at this for twenty minutes," she huffed, talking to herself.

Taking a deep breath in, her nimble hands lightly grasped the bird and unfolded it slowly. Words appeared here and there, no phrases yet discernable. Once it was fully unfolded, creases were all over, but the note was legible. Well, as legible as Jean's handwriting could be.

_ Mothie,_

_First thing's first: Marco taught me how to fold this son-of-a-__bitch__ gun. He's only got one hand but jeez, that kid can fold paper. I don't know how he does it, it's hard enough with two hands. Leave it to the over-achiever to only have one arm and still be better than everyone at everything._

_Okay so enough of the Ode to Marco. I'm going to be completely honest, I don't write letters, and I don't have a legitimate reason for writing on and folding this damned bird. Marco says that 'gestures' like this mean a lot to people, so I just kind of was like, "okay bro let's do the thing". So here I am, writing this thing, rambling on about Marco. Again._

_Fine, fine, I'm about to go into things that I'm not used to writing._

_As you noticed, I began this letter by calling you "Mothie", and you deserve an explanation. In my mind you resemble a moth. Sadly, people take offense to being called a moth, but I don't think they understand the compliment within it. Unlike a butterfly, moths' lives are more valuable for they are more fleeting. Moths live a shorter time, while butterflies may live for years. That being said, no I don't think you're going to die soon, I'm trying to say that you're valuable. Wow that sounds sappy and weird. __Jean is a loser, Sasha.__ Okay so maybe this letter is really dumb and I should tear it up while I'm ahead._

_Nah, I need to go farther with this moth analogy._

_So moths are different. When you look at them, they look kind of small and pesky and plain. Not saying you're plain—just pesky. Kidding! I swear. Just hear me out on this. When you photograph a moth up close, or put them under a magnifier, you can see how lovely they are. Their wings are elegant, their antennae captivating and feather-like. There's more to them than what meets the eye._

_Basically, I think it's time I put you under a magnifying glass and a camera. You're intriguing, so let's see what makes you a moth._

_Yours Truly (see what I did there? Paradise Fears reference! I can't stop listening!),_

_ Pony Boy_

As soon as she finished the letter, Sasha's brown eyes blinked slowly, mouth in a small O-shape. So he complimented her. Okay. Was he implying a date? Her cheeks flushed with the thought. _Don't get ahead of yourself, Sasha_, she warned herself.

Rolling off her bed, letter in hand, she took it and taped it onto her vanity mirror. Never mind what it was all about, it made her happy, and it deserved a spot where she would see it on a daily basis.

_You're valuable_. That's the first time anyone had told her that.


	6. Heaven Can Wait

**Look, another chapter the day after! I hope to be updating more often, for the story is finally falling into place in my mind, and I have an actual plot sketched out (you should know that I kind of just go with the flow for a bit before deciding on a concrete plot/ending). This chapter is dedicated to my lovely friend Caitlin, Tumblr user Jeansasha, because I teased her with the last two chapters, and this one will finally satisfy her... needs. She's been very supportive since the first chapter.**

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading and to the few who have submitted reviews! I'm constantly craving constructive criticism (wow, alliteration to the max), so if you have any advice or feedback, please write it! I post all anonymous comments, so don't worry about sending one off of your user ID (or sending one, period, if you don't have an account). Enjoy!**

* * *

It was 7:00 pm when the doorbell rang. Sasha had been sitting on her bed listening to some music on her Spotify playlist, editing some photographs she had taken the other day at the park. There wasn't much to do, just a little bit of lightening some shadows, putting some emphasis on water droplets on flower petals.

Hopping off her bed, she hurried down the stairs, for her parents were out and she was the only person available to answer. Once she reached the door, she turned the lock and opened it to reveal a familiar, smiling face on the other side of the glass storm door. Upon opening the second door and stepping out into the cool summer night air, a grin spread across her lips.

"What are you doing here? You could've called first," Sasha punched his arm lightly.

"I thought about it, but I figured you'd appreciate the surprise. Though I would've been screwed if your parents had been here."

Sasha snorted, "Then you're lucky they're out! But seriously, what are you here for?"

"There's a meteor shower tonight," he began, "I know you like that nerdy space stuff, so we're taking a trip outside of town. Put something on besides those cotton shorts."

Eyebrows raised in amusement, Sasha nodded. She'd forgotten about the meteor shower, and as soon as he mentioned it, she got excited. Turning quickly, she skipped up the stairs, closing her bedroom door.

"One minute!" she called, slipping into a pair of skinny jeans, a purple V-neck tee, and zipping up a gray hoodie. In moments she was back downstairs, keys in hand. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's go!"

"Stop right there," Jean held up a hand, as if he were a police officer stopping traffic at a broken traffic light.

"What, why?"

"No cell phones. Drop it on the table."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Can I at least take my camera? I want to photograph the shower."

After a moment of hesitation, the boy nodded, "Fine, but that's it."

With a roll of her eyes, Sasha placed her iPhone on the table, along with a quick note to her parents that read: _Went out to photograph the meteor shower. Don't wait up. __ Sasha_.

Locking the door behind her, she skipped down the porch steps and joined Jean. Now she realized that she hadn't seen the kind of car he drove until this moment. It was an old Ford F150 truck—red and rusted. It struck her as odd, didn't his stepdad own a dealership? _Oh_, Sasha realized, _he wouldn't let his stepdad give him a car. I bet he worked for it and bought it himself_. Her suspicions were correct, for as soon as she strapped on her seat belt, the young man smiled at her.

"Like 'im? Bought it myself after a summer of busing tables at Red Lobster," it was obvious how proud he was of the truck.

"I love it. It's definitely endearing."

There was a glint in Jean's golden eyes as he revved the engine, pulling out of her driveway and onto the street. They followed the curve up to the main street at a stop sign, turning right and out west of town. Reaching over, Jean flipped on the radio, turning up the volume. With a frown, and a lot of channel-changing, he turned it off and pulled out an iPod.

"Jeez, that's ancient!" Sasha commented, laughing.

"I know, but I said no phones. Besides, I keep it updated." Obviously he had bought a new stereo system, for he connected the iPod up to it, playing some music from his shuffle. The first song that popped up was _Demons_ by Mayday Parade. Nodding her head to the beat, Sasha's gaze slid over to meet Jean's eyes. In less than a second, the two were dancing the best they could while staying on the road (which had just turned to gravel when Jean turned left).

Soon the two were bobbing their heads, singing and moving about to each song that came up on the playlist. Their fun ended when they pulled into an empty, abandoned field. It had once housed corn crops, for some stalks still grew half-heartedly every here and there. However, whoever had farmed the land once upon a time must have given up, for it was dry and desolate.

Swirling his finger on the navigation circle of his iPod, Jean chose a playlist. Now, instead of upbeat pop-punk music, they were surrounded by ballads. Some by artists they'd just listened to, others from other genres.

They hopped out of the truck, shuffling through the dry, overgrown grass around to the back of the truck. Jean rolled back the protective tarp he'd installed to the bed of the truck, letting the gate down and crawling up onto it. Kneeling, he extended the girl a hand.

With a soft smile, Sasha firmly gripped his calloused palm and placed a foot on the gate, pulling herself up with Jean's help. In a split-second a firm step turned into a tripping-over-her-bootlace. Suddenly she tumbled into the taller, now standing boy. She squealed as her arms flew up, hood falling off her head as she connected with him.

It took a moment for her to realize his arms had wrapped tightly around her, and that her arms had grasped around his neck. Eyes having been squeezed shut, as she'd been expecting the worst, now opened as her neck craned up.

Looking down on her, kind yet teasing golden eyes shone down on her—a soft glowing moon, a smirk painted on thin lips, a backdrop of stars.

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

Pushed back into reality, Sasha's eyebrows shot up her forehead, face instantly burning with mortification as she pulled herself forcibly from his arms. _Clumsy idiot_.

Laughing it off nervously, Sasha pulled her hood back up over her ponytail, "Yeah, I hit a pile of rocks on the way down."

"So you're saying I have rock-hard pecs."

"No, I'm saying you're a pain in the ass."

Turning from her, Jean snorted but didn't retort. Instead, he grabbed a blue, threadbare blanket and unrolled it, laying it on the floor of the truck bed. "There, now we can lie down and watch the stars.

"And then we can fall in love. It'll be just like a chick flick!" Sasha rolled her eyes, elbowing the beanie-wearing boy.

Jean batted his eyes, "I'm such a sucker for them. I cry every time The Notebook ends."

Laughing quite rancorously, the two sat down. With the music softly playing in the background, Sasha had to admit that it _did_ feel like a scene from a movie. They were so isolated, no one was around to see or hear them. It was as if they were on their own little private island of serendipity.

Soon there was a tugging at her hood, and a pulling of her hair.

"Hey! That hurts! What are you doing?" Sasha frowned, turning to face the boy.

"Come on, we're alone out here. Relax a bit, let your hair down. Besides, it looks nice when it's all wavy over your shoulders.

"Fine, but the hood is going back up."

Jean nodded, wrapping the holder around his wrist.

After a small bit of chit-chat about nothing in particular, they laid down on their backs. They pointed out constellations to one another, murmuring words about mythology, arguing over whether that start over there was a star or Venus shining so brightly in the sky. Then they were silent. The playlist Jean had on his iPod had ended, but the teens didn't notice, for their pensive moods had taken over their minds, allowing them to slip into a dream world while watching the sky.

Blinking, Sasha snapped out of her daze, slowly turning her head to look over at the boy to her right. _Intriguing_, she thought, _how he can go from poking and prodding me to small compliments that he makes seem like they hold no weight._ It was true, everything kind he said was in passing, as if he wasn't purposefully complimenting someone. However, Sasha was beginning to understand just how genuine he could be. She recalled a moment that day they'd spent at the park, when he made a comment about telling the truth when a girl asked if she looked nice or not. When asked why he didn't lie like most people did, Jean just shrugged, _I'm an honest man_.

Honestly, the curious girl was fascinated with Jean Kirschtein. Sure, he had a bad attitude at times, but he was one of few people she thoroughly enjoyed spending time with. She especially liked how he refused to be anyone but himself. His undercut was different, but looked good on him, including the contrast of the dark underneath and the copper mess on top of his head. It allowed his cheekbones and strong jawline stand out. He wore a red beanie all over it tonight, his bangs sticking out in spikes over his forehead. But of everything, Sasha especially liked his eyes. _Shards of yellow diamonds_, she recalled her previous comparison.

This whole time Sasha had been staring at Jean when she should have been watching the sky, for her trance was broken when the boy's eyes widened and a large smile burst across his lips. "Look!" he exclaimed with great excitement, "It's started!"

Turning her head back to look at the sky, the brunette noticed the streaks across the sky. It was beautiful. She'd seen shooting stars here and there, but never had seen a meteor shower. It was different than a single shooting star. It was like the heavens were raining down on them, space meeting earth in a colliding of light and dark.

Sasha hadn't realized she'd sighed so blissfully at her thoughts until Jean turned to look at her, eyebrows raised, "What's that all about?"

Still half-dream state, the girl closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, "It's _gorgeous_."

Because her eyes were closed, Sasha didn't see the softened look on Jean's face. It wasn't an expression he made often, and only a few people had received it: his mom, his sister, his favorite high school teacher Ms. Ral (his savior, for she turned his life around when he was in a world of darkness), and now Sasha Braus.

"… Heavenly."

Opening an eye, Sasha glanced at Jean with a single brown iris, "Hmm?"

"Nothing."

* * *

Later, after Sasha had taken some photographs of the stars, Jean drove her home. They'd entirely lost track of time, and at one point while they were on their way back, music playing softly enough yet still breaking their silence, the digital clock read 3:31 am. All too soon the night had passed, the sky was dark again, and the magic of the heavens raining down was already just a memory.

The only sound in the neighborhood was the engine of the truck as the teens pulled into the Braus' driveway. Sitting there in silence, Jean and Sasha were still preoccupied with dreams of dancing stars. Within the next few heartbeats, the boy with the two-toned hair sighed and turned to look at the brunette girl next to him.

"Well, I'll walk you up to the door."

"That's not necessary—"

"It's alright."

Nodding Sasha unbuckled her seatbelt and slid out the door, boots making a small sound on the pavement as she landed. She walked over to Jean's side, purposefully dragging her feet, not at all in any hurry to get to the door.

It was cooler out, now, and there was dew on the grass. By the time she would wake up in the morning the sun will have dried up the droplets, taking the magic from the night and storing it for the next one. The moon was only a little more than a half-circle in the sky, waxing to become full in the next week or so, but still casting a bit of light. Even the crickets were sleeping—no music for background noise.

Finally the time came to say goodbye.

"Thank you," Sasha whispered, looking up at him with a small smile, "for kidnapping me. I really needed to get away for a bit."

Looking up at the sky once more, Jean narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Me too…." The boy seemed thoughtful, and Sasha was curious as to what he was thinking. However, she decided not to ask. Private thoughts are meant to remain as such.

Finally he returned his gaze to her. He tilted his head to the side for a moment, the pensive look still on his face. "It was like heaven was raining down on us, you know?"

Sasha nodded, biting her lower lip before responding, "Yeah… I guess it's our proof that Heaven is a place. I hope to go there one day, especially if it's filled with such beauty."

A soft smile graced Jean's lips as he let out a small chuckle, "You know what I think?"

"… What?"

The boy placed a hand on her shoulder, and soon his thin lips brushed her in the softest, feather-light kiss; then he murmured, "Heaven can wait."


	7. Love in a Box

"You look like shit."

Jean had walked down the stairs into the kitchen. It was Monday morning, after nine o'clock. He squinted in the light that was streaming through the windows. With his golden hair tussled from sleep, quite the bed-head, bags under his eyes, in a wrinkled t-shirt and lounge pants, he _knew_ he looked like shit.

"Louise, don't curse. You're twelve."

"You swear all the time."

"I'm eighteen."

Rolling her eyes, Louise spun her spoon in her apple-cinnamon oatmeal. It was from those Quaker microwave packets, but it was her favorite breakfast. Tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder, the young girl took a sip of milk and looked up at her brother with her eyebrows raised. "You were out really late last night. Where did you go?"

"Why were you up so late?" Jean ran his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in spikes. He wasn't exactly a morning person, especially after a late night.

"I woke up when you ran into the wall. You hissed the F-word really loudly. You're lucky Dad and Mom sleep like rocks."

The boy cringed at the word "dad". Johnson would _never_ be considered his father, no matter what. Louise may call him that, for she was young enough to have taken their mom's word for it when she said he'd be "a good father". However, Jean doubted it, having been quite the skeptical pre-teen going through his rebellious phase (if you could even call it that—he mostly just had a bad attitude that he has yet to grow out of).

"It's none of your business, kid," he said with a sigh, ruffling her hair (to which she squealed; honestly, pre-teen girls) before heading to the walk-in pantry to find something for breakfast. Stopping mid-step, he thought of something. Maybe he should just get dressed and go out. Marco would be up for brunch, and maybe Eren and Armin, too. They could go to the café, and maybe she was working.

He really liked the copper-y-ness of her hair, and he really loved it when it was down. Hell, she looked so cute in her sassy little pink apron, he could hardly stand it. And the way the stars reflected in her eyes….

"Earth to Jean!"

Blinking quickly and jerking his head back, Jean realized he'd been standing in the pantry, frozen mid-step.

"Are you an astronaut, because you're clearly up in space right now."

"Shut up, Louise. I'm in deep thought."

"_Clearly_," the girl sighed deeply, heading to the sink to clean off her bowl and spoon, "Besides, Dad wants to give you a curfew. He wasn't happy with how late you were out."

"I'm _eighteen_, he can't give me a curfew."

"Whatever, he thinks you're doing weed."

"You don't _do weed_, you smoke it. And I don't."

"How would I know the difference? I'm twelve."

"You sounded so innocent there, and very un-Louise like," Jean laughed as she hustled up the stairs, "Don't take forever! We have stuff to do today."

For a half hour Jean had been sitting downstairs on the couch, scrolling through Facebook on his iPhone when something caught his eye. Sasha had uploaded the pictures she'd taken and edited of the meteor shower they'd seen. It must have taken her all morning. Tapping her name, he went to her page and looked at her most recent status: _After a late night and an early morning, I'm finally going to work. Maybe getting up at seven wasn't the best idea._

He hadn't realized he'd been smiling until Louise came down twenty minutes later, "What the heck are you grinning about?" Jumping, the boy flinched and dropped his phone to the floor.

"Dude, don't sneak up on me like that!"

Swooping down and grabbing his phone, the young girl began looking at what was on the screen, "Who's this? She's really pretty. Oh, did you go out with her last night? These are pictures of the meteor shower!" Suddenly, her eyes widened, "Oh. M. G. Are you dating her? Have you told Mom and Dad?"

"Shut up and give me my phone."

"No way! Not until you give me an answer."

"Wait, how did you hear about the meteor shower?"

"An article about it was up on your laptop when you left. I was looking for your headphones because I couldn't find mine, and there the laptop was."

"You creeper," Jean muttered as he snatched his phone from her loose fingers.

"Tell meeeeee!" Louise whined, causing her brother to flinch at the high noise.

"Nothing is going on. Sasha is just a friend who's into that space-y stuff."

"Right, because you would be so considerate to look up the meteor shower to know when to take someone outside of town to see the falling stars."

"It's what good friends do," Jean rolled his eyes, stuffing the phone in his back pocket before grabbing the keys to his truck, "Now let's go. I'm hungry, and you have dance later."

* * *

Sitting in the Expressions Dance Studio waiting room later that afternoon, Jean had his sketchbook sitting in his lap. His tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth as he furiously attempted to concentrate on the lines and curves of the bird he was trying to draw. With a deeply angered sigh, the young man looked up and leaned his head against the wall behind him. _Art block_, he thought, _I haven't had this much trouble drawing since last August_.

Tucking the sketchbook under his arm, he decided to wander the halls a bit. Maybe he'd see something that would spark his imagination, _or something_. The window he passed was to the small studio—Studio C—where he saw Louise practicing with Mina, a girl about his age who had been assisting Louise with her dance solos for the past couple of years. He watched as Louise attempted a switch-leap, leaping like normal with a leg forward and the other back, then switching their places mid-air. After her attempt, Mina's mouth moved as she was seemingly telling the younger girl what she needed to do in order to improve her technique.

Moving on, Jean chuckled to himself. Louise is a lovely dancer, but sometimes she got too indulged in what she did wrong that she was never satisfied. At least it gave her determination. As he made his way down the hall, to the slightly larger Studio B, something caught his eye in this particular window. A familiar brunette ponytail whipped around as a young woman was turning in her a la seconde fouettes, using her momentum to do a single plié chainé turn into a calypso leap, rolling on the floor out of it all.

He stood, mesmerized by the grace of the turns and leap. It had seemingly been one single, fluid movement. _As it ought to be_, he thought with awe, _now __**that's**__ dancing_.

Stepping into view of the window was Miss Petra, the owner and instructor of the studio. She was smiling and clapping her hands. If it had been him in there, Jean would have done the same; he was pretty sure the woman was praising Sasha up and down for her lovely movements.

_That's it!_

Jean hurried back into the waiting area before either woman noticed him, sitting back in the seat he had occupied before. This time he knew exactly what to sketch. Flipping the notebook open to a new page, his pencil began to move quickly across the surface of the porous paper. Forming out of soft strokes was young lady doing a lovely combination. It started in a still of fouettes, chainé, and finally calypso. The sketch was a series of movement, flowing the way an actual person would dance.

Even though the girl in the drawing was a bit ambiguous, when Louise came out of the studio, water bottle in one hand and half-shoes in the other, she pointed at the sketch.

"I told you, you totally have a thing for her."

"Do not. She was just in the next studio over and I decided to draw a dancer."

"And it just happens to look _exactly_ like Sasha?"

Just then, a voice came from down the hall, "What happens to look exactly like me?"

With a sharp inhalation of breath, Jean slammed his sketchbook shut, pencil flying across the room. His face inflamed with mortification.

"His drawing!" Louise interjected, hopping up and down, "He crept in on your lesson and decided to draw you!"

Picking up the pencil at her feet, Sasha Braus laughed as she walked over and handed it to Jean, "How flattering. I didn't think you drew anything other than those still-life pieces I saw on your desk."

Louise's jaw dropped, a strand of blonde hair falling between her eyes, "You were at our _house_? When?!"

A small blush tinted the brunette's cheeks, "J-Just a couple days ago. I think you brother said you were at dance lessons."

Tilting her head to the side, his sister looked curious, "Jean never mentioned you danced here. Actually, he never mentioned you at all, I just saw you on Facebook when he was scrolling through your pictures of the meteor shower," she continued to ramble, "I told him you were pretty and he denied that you two are an item, but I totally know better because let's be honest, you're like the only girl he's hung out with in _forever_ and Jean doesn't hang out with girls unless he likes them—"

Louise was cut off when a hand clamped down over her mouth, "Sorry, Sash, she's a chatterbox who likes to make up gossip. H-hey!" Jean jumped back, wiping his hand on his shirt, "Don't lick me, Louise!"

"You asked for it. I do _not_ make up gossip!"

Casting his sister a glance, Jean glared at her as if to say _shut up or you're dead_, which got Louise to shut her mouth and pout. "Preteens, right?" Jean shrugged, laughing weakly.

"It's alright. Say, Louise, let's talk dance sometime, okay? I can take you to lunch or the mall or something. Here," Sasha pulled a sticky note out of her bag, using a pen to write, "This is my number. Shoot me a text so I know who you are, and I'll be sure to get back to you about hanging out as soon as possible." She winked, before breezing past the brother and sister, "See you around!"

As soon as the young woman was out the door, Louise turned wide-eyed to Jean, "She's perfect!"

"You're just saying that because she offered to take you to the mall. Which, if you do go, _no _coercing her into buying you anything. You still have some birthday money left, spend that if you must. Now let's go home, I'm tired and need a nap."

"You don't nap anymore."

"Shut up."

* * *

It wasn't unlike Jean to lay on his bed with earbuds in, listening to a variety of pop-punk songs. In fact, he was in the mood for some (relatively) older songs. Therefore he wasn't surprised when _Love in a Box_ by The Workday Release came up on his shuffle. However, as the words began to flow into his ears, he found his mind drifting off into the abyss of his mind. Music always encouraged emotions to stream openly behind closed eyelids, but this time it was different.

Had it really been necessary to kiss Sasha the night before? It had been done on impulse, but it had felt really good. He'd kissed girls before, some he dated and some he didn't. No big deal, right? _Lies, Jean. You're telling yourself lies_.

Dragging his palms over his eyelids and down his face, he let out a frustrated groan. No, college was coming in the fall, he didn't have time for a girl from his hometown. But…why did he want to see her again soon? After all, she did have big, pretty brown eyes. He recalled the way her hair had fallen over her shoulders when he pulled the ponytail holder out. Jean had just been happy to watch her look at the sky.

Louise was right, he _didn't_ do something special for just anyone.

"Jean, you idiot," he mumbled to himself, "Get a grip."


End file.
